


back away from the water (babe, you might drown)

by shineyma



Series: medium!jemma [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clairvoyance, Episode: s01e17 Turn Turn Turn, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4580082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma sees dead people.</p><p>It's not as weird as it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	back away from the water (babe, you might drown)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a follow-up to my ["You know I'm right!"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3595836/chapters/10427352) drabble. You might want to read that first.
> 
> Title from Panic! at the Disco's _Miss Jackson_. Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

“Grant’s HYDRA.”

The words burst out of Thomas without warning, startling Jemma so badly she drops her carefully arranged tray of medical supplies. Luckily, she was in the process of setting it down on the counter, so it doesn’t have far to fall, but it does make an awful clatter when it lands.

“Simmons?” Ward is on his feet at once. “What is it?”

“He’s not bad,” Thomas says miserably. His eyes are filled with tears, and—even knowing that Ward will think she’s staring blankly into space and might become suspicious—Jemma can’t look away. “Or, he doesn’t _wanna_ be. It’s Garrett.” His face twists into a scowl. “Grant thinks he cares about him, but he _doesn’t_. He’s just pretending so Grant will do what he wants.”

Her view of Thomas is blocked, suddenly, by Ward’s bare chest, as he steps into her space and grips her gently by the upper arms.

“Simmons?” he asks, angling his head to meet her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nazi bastard,” Grandfather Charles growls. “You keep your filthy hands off of her.”

“Not good,” Jessy frets. “Not good, not good, not good.”

Jemma’s heart beats a wild rhythm in her throat. There’s no time to wonder how it’s possible that Ward—Ward who’s protected them, killed for them, nearly _died_ for them a hundred times, Ward who kissed her this morning and then apologized for not asking first—can be HYDRA. She needs to focus.

She needs to warn the team, and to do that, she needs to get through this conversation without tipping him off that she knows.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and curses the waver in her voice. “I just—everything that’s happened today, it’s—it’s a bit much. That’s all.”

“He won’t hurt you,” Thomas says at once. As reassurance goes, it would be more effective if he didn’t follow it up with a frantic, “Don’t hurt Jemma!” to Ward’s back.

“He killed Nash,” Jessy says, voice hushed. “That was for HYDRA, don’t you think?” She chews on her thumbnail. “If he sees you know…”

“Steady on, Jem,” Grandfather Charles says, resting his hands on her shoulders as Ward stares down at her with furrowed brows. “Be brave, now.”

He said the same thing in the nerve center, earlier, when she and Agent Triplett nearly died. The memory—combined with Thomas’ quiet sniffling—brings tears to Jemma’s eyes.

Ward’s face softens.

“Yeah,” he says. “Guess I can’t blame you for being a little jumpy. But hey.” He gives her a smile that would have warmed her ten minutes ago; now, it’s terrifying. “You don’t have to worry, okay? You’re safe now.”

“Right,” she says, and takes a deep breath. “Of course.” She tries for a smile. “I’m sorry, I—I’m fine. Sit down; let me have a look at you.”

She’d like to just _leave_ , but there’s no way to do that without arousing suspicion. She’s supposed to be clearing him to accompany Agent Hand to the Fridge…though, with her new knowledge, _that_ takes on an entirely different meaning.

But she must give something of that realization away, because, horrifyingly, Ward’s smile fades.

“Oh no,” Jessy whispers.

“Don’t hurt Jemma,” Thomas repeats—more miserable than frantic, this time. “ _Please_ , Grant.”

“What was that?” Ward asks, searching her eyes. “That face you just made?”

Jemma swallows. “What face?”

She can’t meet his eyes any longer, not while fear is clawing its way up her throat. She looks away, toward the door—Jessy is standing there, staring out the window with an intent expression that suggests she’s hoping to _will_ one of the others into wandering by—but only for a moment. Then Ward cups her chin and forces her to look at him, and her breath stutters in her chest.

Somehow, in the brief second she wasn’t watching, Ward’s entire face has changed. None of the gentle, slightly awkward concern he was displaying before remains, nor the earnest comfort.

His eyes are cool, now, and there’s nothing uncertain about the way the corner of his mouth turns down.

He knows. She’s given herself away, and he knows that _she_ knows that he’s HYDRA.

“Oh, Simmons,” he sighs. She bites her lip, and then is forced to suppress a flinch as he presses down on it with his thumb, freeing it from her teeth in a casually intimate move. “How’d you know?”

“Know what?” she tries.

Grandfather Charles squeezes her shoulders and then steps back. She knows exactly why—it was explained to her during the incident with the Chitauri virus (he saved her life, Ward _saved her life_ ) that bad things happen when a person dies while being touched by one of the dead—and it makes tears sting at her eyes once more.

She doesn’t want to die.

“Don’t play dumb,” Ward says. “It insults both of us.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, quick and somehow mocking. “Go ahead and say it. It’ll make you feel better.”

“You’re a traitor,” she says. Her voice wavers as the shock and disbelief she couldn’t allow herself to feel before fill her lungs with sand. “You’re HYDRA.”

“Yep,” he says, with an easy smile that turns her stomach. He’s become an entirely different person right before her eyes, and that actually hurts worse than his betrayal. “Now, tell me how you know.”

She can’t tell him the truth—either he’d think she was lying or, worse, he _wouldn’t_ , and she doesn’t want to imagine what HYDRA would do if they found out about her ability.

So she’ll simply have to lie, and hope that it goes better this time.

“Deductive reasoning,” she says. “Between Garrett’s identity as the Clairvoyant and your actions in shooting Nash—”

“No,” he interrupts. “That’s not it. That kinda thinking might’ve led you to _suspect_ me, but it wouldn’t be enough to _convince_ you.” He tips her chin up a little farther. “You’re terrified. You _know_.”

“I told her,” Thomas says, voice still heavy with misery. “I’m sorry, Grant.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Thomas,” Grandfather Charles says sternly. “Loyalty to your brother is all well and good, but SHIELD can’t afford traitors in their midst. Not now.”

“So what changed?” Ward asks himself. He looks away from her, eyes sweeping over the private examination room. “Somewhere between telling me to sit down and dropping that tray, you figured me out.” His eyes return to hers, and if not for his grip on her chin, she would cringe away from the danger in them. “But there’s nothing here to give me away, so, again, _how did you know_?”

“Timing could have been better,” Jessy says—but she keeps her voice low, likely in deference to the way Thomas looks a little happier, and only Jemma hears her.

“Nothing,” Jemma says. “Nothing changed! I put it together, that’s all, I—”

“Or maybe I’m wrong,” Ward says. Somehow, it doesn’t sound like capitulation. “Maybe you always knew. Maybe the whole team knows.” His eyes drift almost lazily to the door. “Of course, if that’s the case, I’ll have to move quick to cross ‘em all off before they can screw this day up even worse.”

Jemma’s heart sinks.

“Don’t listen to him,” Jessy urges, though she looks uncertain. “He can’t take _all_ of them, surely?”

Grandfather Charles’ gaze has a solemn weight to it as Jemma looks to him. He doesn’t speak, merely offers her a serious nod—telling her without words that he trusts she’ll make the right decision.

Thomas chews on his thumbnail. “It’ll hurt his feelings I told you. It was a secret.”

With a sigh, Grandfather Charles crosses the room to join Thomas by the exam bed, likely intending to offer more reassurance. Jemma doesn’t hear it; Ward turns her to face him once again, looking impatient.

“So what’ll it be?” he asks. “Do I need to go clean things up out there?”

“No,” she says. It escapes her as barely a croak, and she clears her throat and tries again, “No. None of the team know.”

His hand falls away from her chin to resume its grip on her other arm. “Then how do you?”

She can’t risk him hurting the team. He’s outnumbered and, considering the sort of weaponry Hand’s foot soldiers were toting around earlier, very much outgunned, but it’s more than possible—it’s _probable_ —that at least one member of her team will be killed before he’s subdued.

She’s already lost SHIELD, today. She can’t lose anything else.

“I…” She takes a deep breath. She’s never told this to anyone before, not even Fitz, and to share it at all, let alone with the enemy, is a daunting prospect. “I can speak to the dead.”

Ward laughs. Quite a bit, actually.

“Tosser,” Jessy mutters, kicking at the door, as he does so. “And _where_ is your bloody team? You’re supposed to be checking him over, not performing surgery! Why haven’t they got worried yet?”

“That’s funny,” Ward says, once he’s finished. Jemma hates him a little for the chuckle in his voice, for how much _fun_ he’s having with this while she’s bloody terrified. “But, seriously. How’d you know?”

“Ward,” she says. “Look at me. You _know_ I’m incapable of lying convincingly.” She forces herself to meet his gaze and repeats, “I can speak to the dead.”

He stares down at her. The last echoes of laughter fade from his face. His hold on her slackens.

Jemma holds her breath and, though they hardly need it, she can tell the others hold theirs with her.

“What,” Ward says flatly, “the _fuck_.”

“I can’t explain it,” she says, exhaling slowly. “I have no idea how it’s possible, or _why_ , but I’ve been able to see and hear the dead since I was a girl.”

“And the dead…told you that I’m HYDRA?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes.”

His eyes move slowly around the room once more, as though expecting to see ghosts haunting the corners. He’s silent for a long, long moment.

“Who was it?” he asks finally—and still a touch skeptically. “Someone I’ve killed?”

“Uh oh,” Thomas whispers.

She’s tempted to lie—for Thomas’ sake, if nothing else—but she has the feeling that the next few questions will be tests about the personal details of whomever she tells him she’s speaking to, and, as she’s never _actually_ spoken to anyone Ward has killed, she fears she’d be caught in that lie very quickly.

Once again, honesty is her only option.

“Thomas,” she says.

Ward goes still. “What.”

She cringes back at his tone, and his grip on her arms tightens painfully. He’s always been taller than she, but she feels dwarfed in a way she never has before as he looms over her.

“What,” he asks lowly, “did you just say?”

“Stop it,” Thomas says. It’s lackluster, unenthusiastic—hopeless—and after months of hearing him persistently address Ward as though he could hear him, it’s nearly as upsetting as this whole situation.

Jessy, however, is anything but unenthusiastic. “You let her go, you bastard!”

“Thomas,” Jemma repeats shakily. “Your little brother.” His fingers dig into her arms even further, and she bites down hard on the inside of her cheek to hold back a whimper. “He told me.”

“I shouldn’t have,” Thomas says miserably. It appears the harm Ward is doing has undone whatever good Grandfather Charles’ reassurance did. “I’m sorry, Jemma.”

She can’t stand the guilt on his face, and in any case, it’s not possible to put her life at any more risk than it already is. So for the first time ever, she allows herself to respond to one of the dead in front of one of the living.

“Don’t be,” she says. “You did the right thing.”

“But he’s hurting you,” he says, and sniffles a little. “It’s my fault.”

“His choices are his own,” she disagrees. “And you—”

She cuts herself off with a gasp as Ward gives her a firm shake, and Thomas covers his eyes. Grandfather Charles makes an outraged noise.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ward snarls.

“You’re upsetting him,” she says, drawing on all of her courage to meet his eyes. “All of this—you being HYDRA—upsets him, and now he’s blaming himself for whatever is about to happen to me.”

Jessy has abandoned her post by the door to join Thomas, and he all but climbs into her lap, hiding his face in her shoulder, the second she sits down. The sight, somehow, gives Jemma the strength to go on, even in the face of Ward’s rage.

“I didn’t realize it before,” she continues, “but he’s been making apologies for you for _months_. Telling me that you _want_ to be good, but you’re too loyal—I couldn’t make any sense of it before now.”

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re playing at,” Ward starts, “or how you even know that name—”

“Thomas follows you everywhere you go,” she tells him. “I knew him the moment you set foot on the Bus.” His grip on her arms is truly painful, now; she imagines she’ll have bruises for a good, long while after this, should she survive. “He loves you. He looks up to you. And you’re hurting him by choosing HYDRA.”

“Choosing Garrett,” Thomas corrects, a little wetly, and Jemma looks over to see that he’s swiveled on Jessy’s lap to face them. “He’s choosing Garrett ‘cause he thinks Garrett cares, even though he _doesn’t_ , and Grant shoulda known that the second Garrett made him shoot Buddy!”

It’s fascinating, how the mind can detach in the most terrifying of moments. She’s trapped in a small room with an enraged and very dangerous specialist, who is clearly teetering on the edge of inflicting great harm upon her, and yet, she finds herself absurdly curious about Thomas’ off-hand reference.

“Buddy?” she asks, and Ward’s hands go slack around her arms.

“His dog,” Thomas says, sniffling. Jemma returns her attention to Ward at once.

“Garrett made you shoot your _dog_?” she asks, appalled.

“I never liked that bastard,” grumbles Grandfather Charles (who did, truthfully, have quite a lot to say about Garrett even _before_ his identity as the Clairvoyant was revealed). “Pure evil.”

All of the rage has disappeared from Ward’s face; he blinks down at her, clearly gobsmacked. Then, slowly, his gaze moves towards Jessy and Thomas. His eyes don’t quite land on them, resting instead a few inches to their right, but they’re close.

“There’s no way you could know that,” he says dazedly. “Unless…”

“Thomas told me,” she says. His hold on her (throbbing) arms is much looser, now, but she doesn’t dare draw away, for fear it will tighten again. “As I said.”

“He’s really—” he swallows, and for all that she’s still terrified, it’s difficult not to pity him. She’s never seen him look so lost, not even in the immediate aftermath of the berserker staff, when Skye and Coulson half-carried him into her lab and he stared at her like he’d never seen her before. “He’s—?”

“Right there,” she says. “He’s very upset.”

“You made him cry,” Jessy informs Ward, displeased. “You monster.”

“’M not crying,” Thomas says, swiping at his teary eyes, and despite the situation, Jemma can’t help but smile. “I’m not!”

“But he’s not crying,” she says, for his sake.

Ward’s throat works silently. He opens and closes his mouth, then releases one of her arms to scrub his hand over it.

“You said he follows me,” he says finally, voice rough.

“Yes,” she says. “Everywhere.”

“Except Amsterdam,” Thomas says, as a parade of unreadable emotions crosses Ward’s face. “That was gross.”

Considering the fact that Thomas has stood by and cheered during scenes of great violence, Jemma can’t help but be curious, at that.

“What happened in Amsterdam?” she asks.

“I can take a guess,” Grandfather Charles harrumphs. Jessy giggles.

Ward stares. “He was—?”

“He said he didn’t follow you in Amsterdam, because it was gross,” she tells him, and he laughs.

It’s not an amused laugh. In fact, if it were coming from anyone else, she might say he’s only laughing in order not to cry.

“He’s really there,” he says, tone something like wonder. “Fuck.” His eyes move again to the exam bed, this time landing even closer to Thomas and Jessy. “Is he—why does he follow me? Why isn’t he…?”

Thomas shrugs. “Because.”

“Because?” Jemma echoes.

“He’s Grant,” he says, and shrugs again. “I didn’t want him to be alone.”

Jessy _awwwww_ s, and Jemma is hard-pressed not to do the same—for all that her heartbeat has yet to slow. Ward’s been caught off-guard by this, but he’s still a traitor. Just because she’s managed to surprise him doesn’t mean he’s not going to kill her.

“What?” Ward asks.

“He says he didn’t want you to be alone,” she says.

Ward’s other hand finally falls away from her arm, and she exhales slowly as he paces away from her. He’s between her and the door, but there’s a phone connected to the intercom hanging on the far wall. If she can get to it before he notices…she doesn’t even need to _say_ anything, just knock the handset off its cradle.

“Go on, Jem,” Grandfather Charles urges.

She inches backward, heart in her throat—and then freezes as Ward whirls to face her.

“What does Buddy have to do with anything?” he demands.

“I’m sorry?” she asks, thrown.

“Why did Thomas bring him up?” he clarifies, clearly impatient.

She hesitates. If Ward is willing to betray his entire team for Garrett’s sake—up to and including _killing_ her—then he’s not likely to take criticism of him well, especially when the criticism is that he doesn’t care.

But his expression tells her that he’s not likely to take it well if she refuses to answer, either. Perhaps a warning, first.

“I’m not certain you’ll be happy with the answer to that question,” she says.

Ward smiles tightly. “Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”

“Thomas…isn’t very fond of Garrett,” she says delicately.

“Tell him what I said,” Thomas urges. “He needs to know Garrett doesn’t care! Maybe then he’ll be good.”

“Because of Buddy?” Ward asks, brow furrowed.

“She’s trying not to get hurt,” Jessy says, hugging Thomas close. “He might get mean—mean _er_ —if she upsets him.”

“He can’t hurt her for something I said!” Thomas exclaims, outraged. “That’s not fair!”

“In part, I suppose,” Jemma hedges.

“Life isn’t fair, son,” Grandfather Charles says.

“I know. But death should be,” Thomas mutters, and Jemma certainly can’t argue that.

Neither can Jessy and Grandfather Charles.

“Just tell me what he said,” Ward orders, unaware of the solemn spell which has fallen over Jemma and their company. “Exactly.”

She hugs herself, resting her hands over what she’s sure are quickly developing bruises. She’s fearful of setting him off again, with this, but she doesn’t dare argue.

“I said that you were hurting him by choosing HYDRA,” she says. “And he corrected me and said that you were choosing _Garrett_. He said…” She braces herself. “He said that you’re choosing Garrett because you think he cares about you, but that he doesn’t—which you should’ve known as soon as he made you shoot your dog.”

The expression her words put on his face is entirely unreadable, but fortunately, he isn’t moved to violence. He runs a hand through his hair and slumps backward, bracing his hands against the edge of a counter.

“Thomas was—is—” He tips his head back with a heavy sigh, then looks to the exam bed again. “You’re young. There are things you don’t understand.”

Grandfather Charles scoffs.

“I’m a kid,” Thomas tells Ward, scowling. “I’m not stupid—but _you_ are! You should _know_ Garrett’s only pretending.” He snuggles into Jessy, looking, suddenly, very old for such a little boy. “He’s just like Mother.”

Jemma bites her lip.

“Tell him,” Thomas says.

She shakes her head. Ward never speaks about his childhood, but Jemma has access to all of his medical records, and some of his oldest injuries…

Well. She can’t be certain, of course, but she has her suspicions, and if they’re correct? The _last_ thing she wants to do is compare Ward’s mentor to his mother.

“What?” Ward asks.

“I’m afraid Thomas doesn’t find your argument very compelling,” she says.

His eyes narrow, and the fear that spikes in Jemma’s gut makes her dig her fingers into her arms reflexively—a mistake, as they’re still throbbing from earlier, and she can’t hold back a hiss of pain.

“Did he hurt you very badly?” Jessy asks, concerned, and the question distracts Jemma enough that she doesn’t realize Ward is moving until he’s right in front of her.

She startles back, but he catches her by the wrist before she can get far.

“I hurt you,” he says, laying his hands over hers on her arms. “I’m sorry.”

“You damn well should be,” Grandfather Charles grumbles.

Jemma stares. “You’re—sorry?”

“Thomas is…a sensitive subject,” Ward says. “I lost my temper, but that’s no excuse. So, yeah. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” she says again. She’s not certain she’s capable of anything else; the sheer absurdity of it has thrown her for quite the loop.

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asks, looking genuinely sorrowful at the idea. She doesn’t believe it for a moment, but she must admit he’s a gifted actor.

“When there’s still a very good chance you’re going to kill me?” she asks bluntly. “Yes.”

“I’m not gonna kill you,” he says. He twists his hands to take hers, pulls them away from her arms, and holds them against his chest. It’s an odd moment to note it, but he’s still shirtless, and his skin is very warm. “I was _never_ gonna kill you. I _could_ never.”

“Really?” Thomas asks, perking up.

Jemma hates to disappoint him, but she’s fairly certain this is just another game—the way kissing her was, the way protecting the team was, the way (she must assume) _everything_ has been.

“I don’t believe you,” she says.

“Jemmy,” Jessy says warily. “There’s a saying about horses and mouths which I think might apply here.”

“No,” Grandfather Charles says. “Better to face what’s coming than hide in denial. Jemma’s a sensible girl.”

Ward sighs. “I know you have every reason to doubt me. But trust me, I could never kill you.”

“You’re a traitor,” she says, heart in her throat. “You killed Nash and, I’m sure, any number of other innocent people. Why should I believe that I’m any different?”

“Because I _care_ about you, Jemma.” He releases her hands in favor of framing her face, and she stares at him, chest tight, as he brushes his thumbs over her cheeks. “I know you’re confused right now, but—”

“Confused?” she demands. “You’re _HYDRA_. You’re the _enemy_.”

“No, I’m not,” he disagrees. “Not really. John and I partnered with HYDRA, that’s all. It’s not like we’re believers or anything.”

That might actually be _worse_ , but she can’t find the words to explain that. And in any case, not being HYDRA doesn’t make him any less the enemy.

“John Garrett is the Clairvoyant,” she says. “He’s responsible for human experimentation, kidnapping, torture—he had Skye _shot_ , for goodness’ sake!”

“Careful, Jem,” Grandfather Charles says, as Ward’s face darkens.

After a moment, though, his expression clears.

“You don’t understand,” he says, hands falling away from her face. “Once I explain, you’ll see—I’m doing the right thing, okay? The methods are questionable, I’ll admit, but—”

“No,” she says. She glances at Thomas; finally, she understands all of the tiny hints he’s been dropping since the beginning. “ _You_ don’t understand. Evil done for good reasons is still evil, Ward.”

“Like Christian,” Thomas says sadly, and she frowns. He’s never mentioned that name before.

“What is it?” Ward asks, following her gaze. “What did he say?”

“He said _like Christian_ ,” she says, and Ward recoils like she’s struck him. “What?”

He ignores her, eyes fixed on the exam bed.

“You—” He swallows audibly. “You think I’m like _him_?”

“You scared Jemma just because you could,” Thomas tells him, frowning heavily—though he still sounds more sad than angry. “You’ve done bad things because you wanted to, not because you had to—and you had fun.”

“Yes,” Jemma summarizes—but quietly, as she’s uncertain of his mood.

Ward must be aware of that; without looking away from the exam bed, he orders, “Tell me. Word for word.”

So she does. His face grows grimmer with every word, and at _fun_ , he actually flinches.

When she’s finished, the silence stretches out. Whoever Christian is, he must be truly horrible; even Thomas doesn’t look satisfied by how strongly Ward’s been affected. He’s back to hiding his face in Jessy’s shoulder, and Jemma thinks he might be crying, again—certainly Jessy looks worried enough as she rubs his back.

“Is that it?” Ward asks eventually, voice rough.

Jemma glances at Thomas, wondering if there’s more, but he simply shakes his head against Jessy’s shoulder.

“Yes.”

Ward draws in a slow, shuddering breath.

“I need to think about this,” he says hoarsely.

She tenses as he cups her shoulders, but all he does is drop a kiss to the top of her head. Which is—well. It’s _something_. She doesn’t know quite what, or how she feels about it (which says something in and of itself, doesn’t it?), but at least it’s not violent.

“I wasn’t lying,” he murmurs, and then steps back, out of her space. “I do care about you—and I _am_ sorry. For hurting you…and for this.”

Jemma has half a heartbeat to absorb what she’s seeing, to be grateful it’s his ICER he aims at her, rather than his sidearm, and then—nothing.

\---

She wakes, hours later, to Coulson, Fitz, and Skye’s worried faces.

Ward is long gone.


End file.
